Close Encounters of the Morporkian Kind
by MadSpacePotatoe
Summary: When dark circles are appearing in the sky, Throat Dibbler sees one option, tell the Patrician. But when Sam Vimes, and others begin seeing hallucinations it turns out that this is not just a job for the city Watch. Work in progress, stay tuned!
1. Something's Wrong

**Sheep**

Tiffany Aching was having a great time. Obviously. After all, it was just like it had always been, out on the rolling green fields of the Chalk, surrounded by... _sheep, _the, er, _cool_ wind in your face. Who wouldn't love that? Obviously. She looked around at the scenes of her childhood. How long had it been since the Lords and Ladies had attacked? It seemed like _decades_. She looked at the great white horse, and remembered how it had risen from the Chalk itself to save her from the Hiver. She had been so _young _then.

Tiffany Aching looked out across the plain, and saw two dots, moving quickly towards her. She tensed, ready to fight. Wow, danger, she thought. When was the last time you had _danger _Tiffany? Now she could see it was two men on horseback, cloaks billowing in the wind. Bandits? No, bandits stick to roads, here is too specific. They dismounted and walked towards her, holding on tight to their hats to stop them blowing away. Her dress fluttered violently as a huge gust of wind burst across the hills again.

They stopped in front of her, and the man in front glanced at the sheep beside Tiffany before saying;

"Mrs Aching?"

"Not Mrs"

"Oh sorry" he held out a hand. "John Strepsil"

Tiffany stared at the hand. John put it away sheepishly.

"Strepsil?" said Tiffany. "Isn't that some kind of-" John sighed.

"No" The man behind him sniggered. "Oh shut up"

As if in response to the remark, another powerful gust of wind flew through the hills and the man behind John fell over. Strepsil groaned and pinched the bridge of his nose.

"If you're quite finished with this clownish display." said Tiffany. "What was it you wanted?"

"Lots, Miss" said the man behind John

"Shut up, Clive" John looked at the sheep beside Tiffany.

"Do you have anything to do with this, Miss Aching?" Tiffany hesitated

"No. What do you know about this?"

"Same as you. Nothing."

Tiffany went deeper into the pit of despair. There was so much she didn't know, it was killing her. She needed answers, and now these men had brought so many more empty spaces to the puzzle.

"How did you find out about this? The Chalk just happens to be in the middle of nowhere." said Tiffany.

"I have my sources" said John, smugly

"Yeah right, it was just a load of pissed blokes in the-" said the man addressed as Clive.

"As I was saying, it appears that things like this are happening all over the place, not just here." interrupted John.

Tiffany looked at the scene around here. It was nice to know that she wasn't alone. It had all started in the middle of the night. There had been a flash of light outside and she'd gone outside to check. She heard terrified bleating from the sheep pens and she'd gone inside. They were gone. There was bleating everywhere, but they were all gone. It chilled her to the bone. She ran back outside and looked across the landscape to find any traces. There were some lights going across in the direction of the white horse and she followed them all the way there. And she'd stopped. And stared. All night.

All around the horse there were... sheep. They weren't exactly sheep, but like the horse, they weren't what a sheep _looks like,_ but what a sheep _is._

The white sheep covered the area around the horse. It was almost scary, but Tiffany wouldn't admit it.

And the _circles._ They were everywhere, all over the Chalk. Circles appearing in the grass, as if someone had dragged a plough through the ground. If it was just one circle she would've assumed it was just some drunk bloke, but they were everywhere, and even an army of drunk blokes wouldn't have been able to do that in one night.

And then the wind had started. Even in the day's clear sky a massive gale-force wind was powering across the Chalk. People were staying indoors in case they blew away, and the Chalk was even more barren than usual.

Tiffany Aching had to do something.

She looked John Strepsil straight in the eye.

"What... what's going on?"


	2. Dibblersee Dibblerdo

**Sir Dibbler **

Cut-Me-Own-Throat Dibbler was having a good day, for once. He'd managed to sell one of his pies with the mystery chewy bits, and a few of his sausages inna bun, and the strange thing about this was that they'd come back for _more_. It must've been the most money he'd made in a single day. He could remember they were very odd people, but the memory was blurred in his mind, and he couldn't quite focus on their faces.

He'd reached Small Gods street. Throat Dibbler looked at all of his possible customers, carying the money that eas rightfully his, and shouted; "Fresh sausages, so fresh the pig don't even know they're gone!" The people, who knew C.M.O.T Dibbler's assorted meat tray all too well, took no notice.

Dissapointed, he glanced up at the sky, possibly to pray to any god who was willing to buy anything from him. Dibbler looked down at his assorted meat tray. He was sure he hadn't eaten one. He looked up again. I must be going mad, he thought. The sky was... broken... There was a chunk of sky missing. That's not right, the sky can't do that. Probably a law against it, the Patrician'll sort it out. Hm... maybe he should tell the Patrician. Yeah, he'll probably get knighted or something. Sir Dibbler's sausages inna bun would sell like... well, hot buns.

**Tell the Patrician! **

Fanatics. If there was one thing Sergeant Fred Colon hated, it was fanatics, spreading rumors and shouting about Apocralypse this and Gods that. Unlawful wasting of Watch time, if you ask me, he thought. He was reclining on a wall, enjoying a smoke in the hot weather.

"The sky! The sky!" came the cry of unlawful wasting of Watch time. Although reclining on a wall and smoking isn't actual Watch time, Sergeant Colon was in the Watch, and he was on duty, so therefore whatever he did was Watch time to him. So he decided to do something. And that was to move to another one of is favorite reclining spots. No point on trying to stop fanatics, when you could just wait for him to calm down and then lock him up for the night to teach him a lesson. Unfortunatey for him, the prospect of a calm, relaxing day was wiped out by C.M.O.T Dibbler barelling into him at full speed. Dibbler stared into his eyes and grabbed his shoulders, shaking him violently.

"The sky is breaking! We must tell the Patrician!"

"Y-o-u w-h-a-t?" Dibbler thrust his finger upwards.

"The sky is breaking!" Sergeant Colon looked upwards and rubbed his eyes in disbelief. There were two black circles in the sky.

"So it is..." he breathed.

"We must tell the Patrician!" Colon looked at Dibbler with a look of determination. Completely forgetting about his wall and almost swallowing his pipe he shouted;

"You're right! Come on, it's this way!" and the two of them ran in the direction of the Patrician's Palace. The crowd that had gathered to watch the spectacle dispersed into the thriving streets of Ankh-Morpork. Some bought some mysterious powdery items off shady dealers in dark alleyways, others went to seek mental counseling from their supposed psychiatrists.


	3. Something's Very Wrong

**Archchancellor Ridcully**

Archchancellor Ridcully of Unseen University stood in front of the mirror in his room. He wiped his face with a damp cloth and looked himself in the eye. He made a few expressions and then, satisfied possibly with his amazing expression making, dressed himself in his wizard robes and hat.

Without his hat, a wizard is just another simpleton on the street. It was said that wherever a wizard is, he will always, _always _come back for it. You'd need hydraulics and a set of clamps to separate a wizard from his hat.

He walked to his window and opened it, letting in the Ankh-Morpork, for want of a better word, _air_. He breathed in, practically tasting the morning. The sun was just rising above the horizon and the sky was free of clouds. Beautiful.

He frowned.

"Something's not right..." he said. He licked the tip of his finger and held it up. A deep octarine halo formed around it. He grinned. Then he took a deep breath and opened his mouth.

"**MISTER STIBBONS"**


	4. Observing the Observed

An observer observed two figures loitering outside the Mended Drum, Ankh Morpork's most reputably disreputable bar. They were very good at it. If there was a competition to find the best loiterer, they'd be standing around shadily at the top. They had the stance that suggested they couldn't possibly be involved in anything, at all, ever, and that you are very sorry for wasting their time and you'll just be on your way.

The observer would've said that there was something strange about them, the way that you couldn't focus on their faces properly. An observer could've sworn that he'd heard them speak.

"_Speegle blop?"_ said one.

"_Nergle."_ said the other.

"_Speegle hort sorsergas?"_

"_Wan sat!"_

"_Inner boonnn"_

"_Naf."_

Yes an observer definitely would've said that he'd heard them speak. This said observer was standing in a shady alleyway. This loiterer was a champion loiterer, whole leagues above the loiterers outside the Drum.

He said "Bugrit"

"I dunno. Never smelt anyfink like 'em. It's weird… somefing's not right about 'em." said another voice that seemed to come from a grey lump that he was holding by a piece of string.

"Millenium hand and shrimp, I told 'em!"

"Look what have I told you about arguin' with the nose? The nose is always right."

"Got some turnips Sir Lancelot!"

"I say we bugger 'em and piss off. I don't like this…"

"There goes the pink hippo!"

"Do you want to stay and find out? No. Let's make ourselves scarce"

"Bugrem"

The two shady shapes seemed to fade into the dark background. Meanwhile, the figures outside the Drum seemed to reach a decision and pushed open the door to the tavern.


End file.
